Deus Necros

The cavern trembled as the Batlord uncoiled itself from its stalactite perch, its talons—each the length of a cavalry saber—scraping against the limestone with a sound like nails on a slate. The creature’s descent was not a fall, but a calculated demolition. Its hind legs struck the ground first, the impact sending a shockwave through the chamber that cracked the bedrock beneath Ludwig’s boots. Dust rained from the ceiling, glittering in the faint bioluminescent glow of the fungus clinging to the walls.

The Batlord’s wings, veined with pulsating arteries thicker than Ludwig’s fingers, stretched to their full span. The creature itself was massive in size and with his wings opened it just gave it a more terrifying feel.

The membranes were scarred from centuries of combat, patched with knotted tissue where older wounds had healed unevenly. As it exhaled, its breath rolled outward in a visible fog, reeking of rotten stench of flesh and the acrid tang of blood—a scent so potent it made even Ludwig’s undead nostrils flare in protest.

Ludwig didn’t wait for the beast to strike.

“Explosive Mine! Quadruple!”

The spell erupted from his fingertips in a sequence of four crimson orbs, each humming with unstable energy. They streaked toward the tunnel entrance like comets, illuminating the jagged stone walls in hellish light. Beyond that threshold, the skittering of the horde crescendoed—a symphony of chitinous legs and rasping wings, growing louder, closer—until the mines made contact.

The detonation was apocalyptic.

Stone vaporized in the blast radius, the concussion wave hurling debris outward in a lethal hail. Ludwig’s torn clothes whipped around him as the shockwave passed, the sound so immense it flattened the Batlord’s ears against its skull. The ceiling collapsed in a roaring cascade, sealing the entrance under a tomb of rubble. Dust choked the air, reducing visibility to a murky twilight, but Ludwig was already moving, his body a coiled spring.

“Duck!” Thomas’s warning was a razor’s edge against his consciousness.

Ludwig dropped into a crouch as a gale-force torrent of compressed air ripped through the space where his head had been.

The Batlord’s wings wasn’t done, as it had condensed the air into a shimmering, visible shockwave. It struck the far wall with the force of a trebuchet payload, pulverizing stone into powder.

Ludwig’s left arm snapped up, the Soul Chain unraveling from his wrist and weaving itself into a circular buckler in midair. The kinetic bomb slammed into it with the force of a runaway train.

BOOM.

The shield held for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Ludwig to register the individual links screaming under the strain—before it unchained itself. The remnants of the blast hurled him backward, his boots skidding across stone as he fought for balance. His heels dug trenches into the rock, mud, blood and what looked like guano flew everywhere from the impact and push, until he finally arrested his momentum in a crouch.

A grin split his face, the expression more skull-like than human.

“Oh, I see hope in your eyes,” Ludwig purred, his voice a graveled whisper. Durandal’s Shard shifted from sword to scythe with a snick of transforming metal, the blade catching the dim light like a sliver of frozen venom. “Don’t disappoint me now.”

The Batlord’s roar shook the cavern, dislodging stalactites that shattered like crystalline rain around Ludwig. The creature’s massive chest expanded, ribs straining against leathery skin as it drew in a breath that smelled of rotting meat and copper. Its eyes – twin pools of liquid hatred – locked onto Ludwig with terrifying focus.

Ludwig’s fingers tightened around the Shard of Durandal’s hilt. The weapon hummed in response, its chain slithering across the stone floor like a living thing. He could feel the ancient steel’s hunger mirroring his own. This will be a dance of blood and thunder, he thought, rolling his shoulders as he settled into a combat stance.

The Batlord struck first.

Its right claw swept horizontally, moving faster than something so massive should be capable of. Ludwig barely had time to react. He dropped into a slide, feeling the displaced air ruffle his hair as the claws passed inches above him. The moment he cleared the attack, he planted his left hand and pivoted, his boot scraping against the rough stone as he came up facing the beast’s flank.

[Summersault Slam!]

Ludwig’s body became a whirling dervish of steel and fury. He launched himself upward, twisting in midair to bring the scythe down in a devastating arc. The blade bit deep between the Batlord’s shoulder blades, eliciting a shriek that made the very air vibrate. Black blood fountained from the wound, splattering across Ludwig’s face in warm, sticky ropes.

-21,115 HP!

The creature’s health bar shimmered into view above its head, the red portion noticeably diminished. But this was far from over.

The Batlord reared back, its wings beating furiously as it tried to dislodge the scythe embedded in its flesh. Ludwig held fast, his undead muscles straining as he kept pressure on the weapon. The chain attached to it thrummed with tension, vibrating like a plucked guitar string.

The bat looked like it was hesitant on moving on the left side, and checking his wings, he noticed a massive gash that seemed to have healed only recently.

Ludwig’s grin turned feral. A weakness. He yanked hard on the chain, using it to swing himself onto the Batlord’s back. The creature bucked like an enraged bull, its claws scrabbling at empty air as it tried to reach him.

The cavern became a whirlwind of motion. The Batlord spun, slammed itself against walls, even attempted to roll – all to dislodge its unwanted rider. Ludwig held on like a burr, his legs clamped tight around the creature’s ribcage. With each impact, his bones rattled, but the pain was nothing more than a distant annoyance.

With the scythe’s edge in between the Batlord’s shoulder blades, Ludwig flung the chain on his left arm right inside the creature’s mouth. The other end of the chain sprung toward Ludwig and he grabbed it with his other hand. He slammed the opened end onto the scythe and grabbed the chain on both sides with his hands like reining a horse.

He then stood up on the back of the Bat, like a rider.